Ticker Tape
by gwennie3579
Summary: Witches, ghosts and parades, oh my! The Winchesters are on a hunt in Rome, Georgia, just in time for the annual beer festival  and parade . They call in the help of their favorite angel to solve a string of murders and track down a killer. Set post S5.


**A/N**: Yes, this was in fact inspired by the season 5 gag reel, and Misha's adorable declaration: "Confetti! It's a paraaaaade!" Too precious NOT to inspire a fic. It ended up turning out more plot-heavy than I planned, with not as much smut. Ah well, can't always get what you want. Hope you enjoy anyway!**Disclaimer**: The boys, both real and fictional, do not belong to me. Neither do parades, confetti, or Misha's adorableness.

There were werewolves in Rome, Georgia. Bobby called to tell them, not three months after Sam was sprung from the pit, two months after Dean bade Lisa and Ben an awkwardly tearful goodbye and hit the road, his baby purring beneath him and his brother in the passenger seat, the way it was always supposed to be.

Six people had been killed in Rome since the spring, all the bodies found badly mangled with their hearts removed. It made sense, Sam said, poring over his laptop in their cramped room at the Sweet Comfort Bed and Breakfast on the outskirts of the Berry College campus. Dean didn't ask why it made sense, but Sam told him anyway, and it was so good to have his obnoxious know-it-all of a brother back that Dean didn't even make fun of him for being such a geek.

"It's obvious," Sam said, and Dean nodded, only half-listening. There was a Dr. Sexy M.D. marathon on TNT, and Dean was riveted. Sure, he'd already seen all the episodes (twice), but this was season two, when Dr. Sexy's philandering girlfriend, Nurse Celia Devereaux, found out she was pregnant, and even though Dean already knew it wasn't Dr. Sexy's baby, he couldn't turn the TV off.

"The name of the town should've been our first clue," Sam continued, taking a sip of the half-caff soy vanilla latte he picked up at the Starbucks on campus. Dean gave him shit for it, because he was Dean and that's what Dean did, but he watched Sam order it with an indulgent sort of irritation that bordered more on fondness than anything else.

"Yeah," Dean muttered, figuring Sam would keep on rambling if he didn't give some sort of indication he was listening.

"I mean, _Rome_? And did you see the statue downtown at City Hall?"

"Uh huh," Dean said, leaning forward on the lumpy mattress as Celia broke the news to Dr. Sexy.

"Romulus and Remus feeding from the wolf," Sam continued, shaking his head with an amused smile. "It's kinda poetic, don't you think?"

"Sure," Dean said with a nod, pressing the volume button on the remote. Dr. Sexy was quietly telling Nurse Devereaux he never wanted to see her again, face contorted with betrayal and pain, and Dean gritted his teeth, wondering what Dr. Sexy saw in the traitorous bitch.

"Dean, you listening?"

"Werewolves, yeah," Dean said, waving a hand vaguely in Sam's direction. "But it's four in the afternoon. Nothin' we can do until after dark."

"Well, I'd like to do a little research at the campus library," Sam said, snapping the laptop shut and arching his back, grimacing as he stretched. "And," he added, giving Dean a cautious look, "I think we might need to call for reinforcements."

"Yeah," Dean said, as Dr. Sexy watched Celia walk out of the hospital and out of his life while the music swelled. A single tear slipped from Dr. Sexy's eye, trailing down his cheek, and Dean let out the breath he'd been holding. It was then that he realized what Sam had said. "Huh? Reinforcements?"

Sam nodded, pushing himself out of the chair and collecting his wallet and the keys to the Impala. He steadfastly did _not_ meet Dean's eyes. "I've been looking up some unsolved disappearances in the area, and I think we're looking at a lot more than just six victims. Could mean there's more than one wolf."

"Yeah, so?" Dean said stubbornly. "I think we can handle a couple'a werewolves in Nowhere, Georgia. This is small fries, Sammy."

"Dean, this is… it's only been two months, y'know, and we haven't dealt with anything this big since before…"

Dean didn't have to ask _before what? _Instead, he scowled and clicked off the TV, reaching down to pull on his boots.

"We got this, Sammy," he said, standing up and holding out his hand for the car keys. "I'll even go to the library with you, okay?"

"Dean -"

"Besides, Bobby's on that case in Minnesota; it'd be days before he could get here."

"_Dean _-"

"So, looks like we're on our own whether we want to be or not."

"Cas could -"

"_No_," Dean said, whirling around to face his brother. "We already talked about this Sam, so just fuckin' drop it, okay?"

"Dean, he can help. He _wants _to help -"

"He made his choice," Dean growled, shoving his wallet in his back pocket and stalking toward the door. "My whole fuckin' life fell apart, and he hauled ass upstairs the first chance he got."

Sam sighed, following Dean out to the Impala, pulling the door shut behind him. "He _had _to go," Sam continued, easing himself into the passenger seat with the same rush of relief he felt every time he'd done in the last two months. "He didn't want to leave, but there wasn't a choice. He feels bad about it, Dean. He wants to make it right."

"Well, he can't," Dean said, yanking the car into gear and pealing out of the parking lot. "And I don't want you talkin' to him behind my back either, you hear me?"

"Sure, Dean," Sam muttered, thumping his head against the cool glass of the window, watching the stately old homes roll by, giving way to the immaculately kept, more modern building of the Berry College campus.

Dean was gonna _kill _him.

**oOo**

Sam couldn't find the records he wanted at the college, so he and Dean headed downtown to the main branch of the Sarah Hightower Regional Library. The streets were crawling with people, sidewalks packed and spilling over onto the asphalt. Dean wove through the crowd carefully, maneuvering past makeshift food stalls and shade tents crammed with people seeking refuge from the hot afternoon sun.

"What in the hell?" Dean muttered, turning off onto a side street and pulling into parking space barely big enough for the Impala to fit. Sam shook his head, looking out at the milling crowd. There were groups of older men and women, and also large packs of younger people, mostly kids in their early twenties. Everyone seemed to have a glass or two in their hands, and all of them looked like they were having a pretty damn good time.

Dean nudged him, nodding out the windshield toward a banner strung high up between a bank building and the back end of the library.

"Third Annual Rome Beer Festival," Sam read, raising an eyebrow. "Well, that explains the crowd."

"And why campus was nearly deserted," Dean added, grinning a little. "Hey, Sammy -"

"No, Dean," Sam said, already knowing what his brother was going to ask.

"But -"

"No. We're on a case."

Dean pouted. "Yeah, but we can't do jack until dark."

"Yeah, and we get drunk before moonrise, we're likely to get ourselves killed."

"_Sam_…"

Sam huffed, trying ignore Dean jutting out his bottom lip, eyes wide and too damn innocent, but he'd lost this battle long before it ever started.

"One drink," he said, rolling his eyes in defeat as Dean whooped and pumped a fist in the air. "_One_," he said again, a warning tone in his voice. Dean just reached over, ruffled his hair, and then jumped out of the car, making for the nearest vendor booth.

One hour later, Sam was drunk. Dean seemed to be holding up pretty well, but he was laughing a _lot_, flirting with the coeds and racking up a serious collection of phone numbers. After the third Brittany walked away, Sam put a hand on his wrist.

"Dude, we gotta quit."

Dean looked at him, annoyed but still grinning. "_You're _the one who's drunk, asshole," he said mildly, shaking off Sam's hand.

"M'not. Just… tipsy." Sam knew he was a hell of a ways past tipsy, but it was only just 7:00, and if they stopped right then, they could probably sober up before the moon rose.

"One more," Dean said, but Sam was already shaking his head. "Sammy, you never let me have any fun."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm too busy keeping your ass alive," Sam said, grabbing Dean's arm and pulling him back toward the car, stumbling just a little as he stared down at the ground, watching for hidden pitfalls.

Dean grumbled and muttered all the way, but Sam finally got them back to the Impala, and Dean drove them back to the B&B, cautious and slow past the cops that lurked outside the city center. They changed clothes, and Dean made coffee in the tiny four-cup pot on the kitchenette counter, filling one thermos and then putting on another pot. By 9:30, Sam was starting to feel almost human again, and Dean was getting antsy.

They drove up North Broad Street and out of town, negotiating the heavy traffic as revelers left the festival. The congestion cleared up once they reached the city limits, giving way to darkened urban streets and a mostly abandoned industrial neighborhood. The old Pepsi Bottling Company sprawled huge and black against the light of the full moon, a massive squat structure made up of squares and rectangles, parking lots empty and eerily open, unprotected.

Dean stuck close to the building, driving around to the loading docks and parking under a lamp post that probably hadn't worked in thirty years. Two of the bodies had been discovered here, and it seemed as good a place as any to camp out.

Dean was on his third cup of coffee when the car was filled with a sudden rushing of air, riffling through his hair and raising goosebumps along the back of his neck. He shouldn't have been surprised, really, to see the angel sitting in the backseat in his rearview mirror, but he jumped anyway.

"Dean," Cas said, and though his face was as impassive as it always had been, there was something like relief in his voice, something that made it sound like he was happy to be there, happy to see Dean.

"What the _fuck?" _Dean said, not feeling quite so charitable. He looked over at Sam, pissed off and betrayed. "What did you do?"

"Sam called me," Cas explained, leaning forward between the seats, far too close for Dean's liking. "He said you needed my assistance with a case."

"I don't _need_ anything from you," Dean growled, casting a fierce glare back at Cas before turning an accusatory gaze on his brother. "I told you, Sam. I fucking _told _you I didn't want you talking to him."

Sam, at least, had the good grace to look a little ashamed. "I thought we could use his help," he said, ears going a little pink, obvious in the bright moonlight filtering in through the windows. "And I thought maybe the two of you could…"

"Could _what_?" Dean said in a low rumble, dangerous and deadly quiet. Sam fidgeted, looking back at Cas, who was watching the interaction with an expression of confused concern. There was something that might have been hurt or disappointment in his blue eyes, and so Dean refused to meet them, instead shoving back into his seat, arms crossed over his chest as he stared petulantly out into the dark.

They sat in silence for countless minutes, crickets singing in the scrubby weeds that had sprung up through cracks in the miles of concrete and pavement. Dean wondered who was going to be the first to break, and was halfway contemplating the idea of ending the standoff himself, when a flash of motion from the far corner of the building caught his eye.

"What -?" he said, leaning forward in his seat, peering through the windshield.

"You see something?" Sam asked, following Dean's gaze. Cas pushed through the space between the seats again, staring out into the dark, and it gave Dean an itchy sort of feeling along the back of his neck.

"A woman, it looked like," Dean said, ignoring Cas's proximity.

Sam frowned. "Not a werewolf?"

Dean shook his head. "Just a girl. Looked to be about 25-ish. Average height, average size. Nice tits."

"Dean -"

"What? You asked."

"I didn't ask what cup size she wore," Sam said with an exasperated huff. "I asked if she had fur."

"Whatever. And no, she didn't have fur. Or claws."

"So we're lookin' at Little Red Riding Hood, and not the Big Bad Wolf?"

"That's what I'm sayin'."

Sam sighed. "We'd better go get her."

"Yeah."

The brothers Winchester climbed out of the car, Cas in tow, tiptoeing quietly around the side of the building. There was a light flickering through the open door of the loading dock at the far end of the lot, faint and guttering in the breeze. Dean reached a hand back and slid his gun from it's hip holster, cocking the safety. Sam made a face at him, and Dean shrugged a shoulder. Better safe than sorry.

They heard the chanting before they reached the loading bay, soft but strong, a decidedly female voice. Sam crept past Dean, pulling out his own gun, winning a raised eyebrow and an _I told you so _look from his brother. Sam kept the safety on, though, waiting to apprise the situation before making any rash moves.

The situation, as it turned out, didn't really merit guns. At least, not the pistols loaded with silver bullets they happened to be carrying. Instead, what they really needed were sawed-offs, jam-packed with salt rounds, to blast the hell out of the ragged, shimmering ghost in the middle of the warehouse. The sawed-offs that they'd, naturally, left in the trunk.

"Well, fuck me," Dean muttered, holstering his gun and looking around for anything made of iron. The ghost, an older woman dressed in what looked like the tattered remnants of a pink Chanel suit, was bent over a sobbing young woman, a wicked-looking knife poised just beneath her throat, glittering as it flashed in the candlelight.

Sam tried to get a grip on the situation. The woman was crying, knife pressing into her flesh until a bead of blood welled up over the collar of her shirt and trickled down, tracing a path over her heart. But she was chanting as she cried, a rough, jerky language Sam wasn't sure he'd ever heard.

"Peggy Sneed," the girl said hoarsely, looking defiantly up at the ghost. "I bind you. I bind you and command you. For many years you have wandered, but you will roam no more." The chanting started back up again, and Sam looked back at Cas, confused. Cas shrugged, an oddly human gesture on the freshly mojoed angel, and Sam figured it wasn't any sort of angelic language, either.

Neither the ghost nor the woman had yet noticed their presence, crouching in the shadows near the door, but Dean knew they needed to act quickly. The ghost was pressing the knife harder, and Dean suddenly realized why all the victims had had their hearts removed. This girl was about to become the next name on the list, and he'd be damned if he stood by and watched it happen.

Cas nudged his foot, and when Dean looked back, the angel tipped his head toward the corner, where a long, heavy chain was coiled. Far too heavy for Dean, or even all three of them to lift, but there were a few broken links scattered around the floor, roughly the size of Dean's fist. He bent down and picked one up, testing its weight and feel in his hand. Iron. Definitely iron.

He shot Cas a crooked grin, and the angel smiled back, the first genuine smile Dean could remember seeing in months. It threw him a little bit for a loop, and he had to shake his head, remind himself why they were there.

He turned back just in time to see the ghost press the point of the knife into the girl's chest, drawing a steady flow of blood and a strangled gasp from the young woman, bringing an abrupt end to her chanting.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, drawing their attention over to the corner. "Pick on someone your own age, Grandma Moses!" The ghost yanked the knife away, surprised, and shot Dean a look of indignant anger. He hurled the link of chain at her head, followed closely by two more from Sam and Cas. The iron sizzled as it shot through her, smoking and hissing as she flickered in and out and then finally vanished.

"You okay?" Sam asked, running toward the girl, but she was up and off like a shot, sprinting deep into the pitch black of the inner warehouse, where the candlelight couldn't reach. They heard a metallic clanging, like a heavy door being open and shut, and then the sound of footsteps, hard and fast, retreating into the recesses of the old factory.

"What the hell?" Dean said, turning a questioning gaze on Sam and Cas. Sam shrugged, and Cas just stared blankly, a vaguely confused but half uninterested look on his face.

They rode back to the inn in silence, tails tucked just the slightest bit between their legs.

"So, you think she's a hunter?" Sam asked when they got into the room, immediately making for his laptop.

Dean shook his head. "No clue, man. If she was, I'm not sure we saved her or just put a major cramp in her style."

"Looked like that ghost was getting the upper hand on her," Sam said, already up to his eyeballs in Google links.

"The language she was chanting," Cas said, moving to sit on the edge of Dean's bed. Dean squirmed away uncomfortably, pressing himself up against the headboard. If Cas noticed, he said nothing.

"Yeah? What about it?" Dean asked gruffly. Cas had come to help them, the second Sam called, but Dean still wasn't quite ready to forgive him for ditching just when Dean needed him most. Old wounds are the hardest to heal, and this one had been left open and exposed for way too long.

"It was unfamiliar to me," Cas said, pulling himself further onto the mattress. Dean watched, wide-eyed, feeling a little cornered. There was nowhere else on the bed for him to go, and Cas still hadn't learned a damn thing about personal space.

"Join the club," he said, grabbing the remote from the nightstand and flipping on the TV, desperate for something to do with his hands. "Nothin' I've ever heard before."

"I don't think you'll find it being spoken on your television programs," Cas pointed out helpfully, and Dean scowled at him.

"I know that, Cas. I just need to think, okay? This helps me."

Cas cocked his head, looking skeptically at the TV. "Watching _Survivor_ helps you uncover ancient mysterious languages?"

"That's not what I mean - hey. How the hell do you even know what _Survivor _is?"

"I do know things about this world, Dean," Cas said. "Besides, we angels have been battling the scourge of reality TV for a long while now."

Dean raised an eyebrow, stunned speechless for a moment. "Are you… _joking_? Sam? Did Cas just make a _joke_?"

Sam looked up from his laptop, amused. "A bad one, but yeah. Yeah, I think he did."

"Well, I'll be damned," Dean said, scratching the back of head. Cas watched him, one corner of his mouth tipped up a fraction more than the other. Not a smirk, exactly, at least not one of Dean Winchester proportions, but closer than he'd ever seen the angel come.

Smiling a little, Dean relaxed against the headboard, flipping off the TV and nudging Cas with his foot. "You oughtta put together a standup routine," he said drily. "The dicks up top would _love _that."

Cas's smile stretched, but then Sam swore loudly from his corner, pulling their attention.

"What is it?" Cas asked, getting up to move behind Sam. Dean couldn't help but feel a sudden sense of loss at the distance between them.

"Peggy Sneed."

"Huh?" Dean said, moving to the edge of the bed.

"Peggy Sneed. That's the name the woman called the ghost. Peggy Sneed was infamous in Rome for decades, especially back in the 50s."

"For what?" Dean asked. "Cutting people's hearts out?"

Sam shook his head, a bemused look on his face. "She was a madam. An extremely well-known and respected madam."

"What's a madam?" Cas asked, leaning over Sam's shoulder to look at a picture on the screen.

"She ran a whorehouse," Dean supplied, and he couldn't suppress a little snicker.

"A den of iniquity?" Cas asked, eyes going round and surprised. Dean could almost see the flashback to his own little brush with sin playing across his face. It made something flare and burn in Dean's belly, and he looked away.

"So what's with the fancy suit?" Dean said, swallowing down the strangle in his voice. "Looked more Jackie O than Heidi Fleiss."

Sam raised a questioning eyebrow, and Dean felt his cheeks go warm. "What? I saw an _E True Hollywood Story_. Nothing else was on," he muttered, looking away.

"Anyway," Sam said slowly, turning his laptop so Dean could see, too. "Peggy operated one of the most well-known establishments in the country. Dignitaries would fly in from all over to visit Peggy's girls. All of Rome knew what was happening behind closed doors, and everyone turned a blind eye; cops, church leaders, parents. Peggy had the whole town in her pocket."

Dean thought this over. "Witch, maybe? She could have threatened to curse anyone who tried to stop her."

"I don't know, Dean. The way it seems, Peggy was just really damn good at her job. Her girls were clean and pretty, and most were college educated. Never had any trouble with the law, except for a couple pranks the local frat guys played on her."

"So when'd she start slicing and dicing?"

"No idea. She doesn't have a criminal record, never tended toward violence of any sort, and seemed to live a pretty normal life."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, except the part where she sold sex for money."

"Except for that," Sam agreed.

"We've gotta find that girl. I think she's the missing piece, here."

"I agree with Dean," Cas said, a little too quickly. "I'll stay until we track her down."

Dean looked at him, a little askance, but finally he shrugged. "Suit yourself. Sammy and I gotta get some sleep; it'll be a pretty boring night for you."

"I don't mind," Cas said quietly, and whatever was churning in Dean's gut suddenly felt ten times worse. He mumbled something about needing to take a leak, and bolted for the bathroom. When he came out fifteen minutes later, Sam was in his bed, and the lights were off.

"Dude, I hope you flushed," said Sam's voice, low and muffled in the darkness.

"Whatever," Dean said, tugging off his jeans and sliding into bed. He firmly ignored Cas, standing on the either side of the room near the window, silhouetted against the yellow light from lamp outside.

"I wanna go back to the city library tomorrow," Sam said around a yawn. "Need to look up records on Peggy Sneed."

"Sure," Dean said, settling back against the pillow. He'd expected to lay awake all night, Cas's presence keeping his nerves jittery and his mind aware and on-edge. Instead, he felt safe, sort of at-peace in a way he hadn't for a long time, and he slid into sleep as easily as sinking down into a hot bath.

"'Night, Sam," he murmured softly, as sleep reached up to meet him halfway. "'Night Cas."

He was out before he had a chance to hear the quiet, "Good night, Dean," from across the room.

**oOo**

Day three of the Rome Beer Festival was in full swing, and downtown was even more packed than the previous day. Sam and Dean and Cas wove through the crowds of lecherous old men and college girls in skimpy tank tops, pressing on toward the library's main entrance.

There wasn't a soul inside, other than a few harried and bored librarians, and Sam settled down at the microfiche machine while Dean and Cas paged through a few old newspapers.

There weren't many articles about Peggy, or her business endeavors. She'd been a respectable lady, well-liked by pretty much the entire community, and though she was heavily involved in charity work, she kept mostly to herself.

Dean's fingers were turning black from skimming over the powdery dry ink, and there was a pretty hellacious crick starting in his neck. He looked longingly at the door, through the glass to the partiers outside, clutching their sampling glasses and laughing at stupid jokes, not a care in the world.

Dean would've given a million dollars to be one of them.

An hour later, even Cas was zoned out, staring out blankly into space, toe tapping mindlessly against the marble floor.

"Hey," Dean said quietly, kicking the side of Cas's shoe. When he had the angel's attention, he nodded toward the door. "You wanna go get a beer?"

"Dean," Sam protested, shooting him a glare. "We're _working_."

"No, _you're _working. I'm _aging_. I'll be as old as Peggy Sneed by the time I actually find anything like this." He held up the newspaper, giving it a disparaging look as he did. Thank Christ for the internet.

Sam heaved a put-upon sigh. "Fine. But if your ass is drunk when I find you, you will pay for it."

"Aw, shucks, Sammy," Dean said with a grin, scratching his fingers over Sam's head, ruffling his hair hopelessly in the process. "Aren't you just the best little brother in the whole wide world?"

"And don't you forget it," Sam said, but Dean had grabbed Cas's arm and hauled the angel outside so fast the doors were already closing on his words. An annoyed librarian, probably wishing she were outside with a cold beer, too, gave Sam a warning look.

"Well, shit," he grumbled, and went back to his research.

**oOo**

There were posters plastered on every surface throughout the festival, proclaiming the "Ode to Ale Parade" that would cap off the weekend later that evening. Dean couldn't care less about the parade, not when he had a beer in each hand and was slowly but surely working on a nice buzz, but Cas looked at the poster with curiosity in his eyes, then flicked his gaze over to Dean.

"What's a parade?"

"Huh?"

"A parade. What is it?"

"Oh." Dean looked down at his beer, head a little fuzzy, then looked back at Cas. "You've never heard of a parade?"

Cas shook his head, then tipped back another beer. He was on his twelfth, and Dean thought maybe he was starting to feel something. Damn well better be, because they were running out of tickets.

"It's a… a celebration," Dean said, slurring a little, and it occurred to him that he might be a little drunker than he thought. "You know?"

"I just said I didn't."

Dean made a face. "Well, there are floats," he said, and then nodded, pleased with this description.

Cas tipped his head, furrowing his brow. "Floats? You mean, in the air?"

"No, no. On the ground."

"But what are they floating on?"

Dean huffed. "You're not listening. They don't float on anything. They're just _called _floats. People ride on them. Famous people, sometimes, or sports stars or beauty queens."

"Why?"

Dean blinked. "Why?"

"Yes. Why would a famous person want to ride on something called a float?"

Dean pondered this. "Huh. I dunno. Just do, I guess. There are bands, too."

"Bands?"

"Marching bands. They play music. And march. And clowns!" Dean smiled broadly, and Cas just stared. "I hope there're clowns. Sam'll shit himself."

Cas looked like he was about to ask another silly question, but at that moment, Dean caught a flash of movement over his shoulder. A woman, plain except for her long red hair, ducking around a building and into a deserted alley. There was something familiar about her movements, something about the way she carried herself…

"It's her," Dean said, pushing past Cas and running after her. "Hey! Hey, wait up!"

He could hear Cas pounding pavement behind him, and he pushed through the crowds, careening around a corner into the alley, and coming to an abrupt halt.

"Shit," he breathed, as Cas turned the corner and plowed into his back. Dean stumbled forward, and Cas put a hand on his arm, steadying him. A jolt of electric went through him, but Dean shook it off, focusing on what was slumped against a brick wall at the end of the alley - a dead body, bloody and broken, a very obvious gaping hole where the man's heart used to be.

Dean's cell phone buzzed in his pocket at precisely that moment, and he flipped it open, still staring wide-eyed at the body.

"Sam," he said, a little breathless from running and from shock. "We found her. We found her, but she got away. And there's another victim."

"Dean, get out of there," Sam said, a note of fearful urgency in his voice.

"What?"

"It's her, Dean. It's the girl. Her name's Sara-Grace Linley, and she has a rap sheet a mile long."

Dean frowned into the phone, even though Sam wasn't there to see. "I don't get it."

"She's been picked up by the cops a dozen times, Dean. Tried on charges of _prostitution. _And one of disorderly conduct after her coven caused a racket out in the woods during some ceremony."

"Prostitution?" Dean repeated, processing the information dump. "And… wait. Her _coven_?"

"She's a witch, Dean. A very pissed off witch, and a convicted felon to boot."

"So, you're saying it's not Peggy's ghost committing the murders?"

"No, it is," Sam said, flipping into explanation mode. "But she's not doing it by choice. Sara-Grace has cast some sort of binding spell on her. She's forcing her to murder the men Sara-Grace thinks have wronged her. She thinks she has some sort of psychic bond with Peggy, because of what they are. Or were."

Dean nodded, as the pieces finally started clicking together. "So the victims -?"

"Cops mostly, and all of them _customers _of Sara-Grace."

"Revenge," Dean said, mostly to himself. "Shit. Probably shoulda figured that out sooner, huh?"

"Probably," Sam agreed, then, voice full urgent, "Don't go after her, Dean. She's extremely dangerous, and we don't know what kind of spell work we're dealing with yet."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, but his attention was elsewhere. He'd just caught a flash of long red hair back out in the street, streaking past the revelers as the streets began to clear for the beginning of the parade.

"Dean -"

"Got it, Sammy. We'll be fine." Dean snapped the phone shut, closing it on Sam's arguments and warnings, and putting in his pocket, he gestured at Cas. "Come on," he said grimly. "We gotta witch to burn."

**oOo**

It didn't take long to find her. The streets were empty in advance of the parade, the onlookers pushed back onto the sidewalk, still and orderly as they waited for the first float to come through.

Her red hair was easily recognized, and Dean spotted her a few minutes later slipping into a church with high stained glass windows. Tugging Cas behind him, Dean ran for the door, pounding up the stone stairs and into the sanctuary, looking around wildly.

She was already past the altar, ducking through another door that led through the baptistery. Dean followed, hot on her tail, but she was damn fast, always staying just a few steps ahead of him. His hand itched to yank out his gun, but the bitch - evil as she was - was still human, and he couldn't shoot a human in cold blood. At least, that's what he told himself.

Dean almost lost her when she sprinted back through the sanctuary, dodging pews and barreling past a huge cardboard display for Vacation Bible School. The display, tall but lightweight, spun around, teetering sideways and falling right into Cas and Dean's path. Dean saw it too late, tripped over it, and went down hard on his knees. Cas ducked around him, following the girl back out into the sunshine, and Dean pulled himself up, close behind.

The parade was in full swing, the crowd cheering loud and sharp as a marching band moved by, blaring "Hang On, Sloopy," and executing a few out-of-sync moves. The girl moved through them, pushing aside a chubby and indignant tuba player as she ran for the other side of the street. Dean gave the kid an apologetic look as he sprinted by, Cas on his heels.

The girl wound through the parade, blitzing by floats for various charity organizations, all decorated in a beer theme, a convertible containing Ms. Teen Georgia and, yes, a group of clowns on ridiculously tiny bicycles.

Cas moved ahead of Dean again, and he was almost upon her when one of the clowns held up what looked like a paper sack, raising his other hand and hitting it with the flat of his palm, busting it open.

An explosion of confetti burst into the sky, raining down bits of metallic shimmer on their heads, a cloud of silver and gold all around them. Cas sputtered, waving his hands in front of his face and coming to a dead stop. Dean crashed into him, and the two went tumbling onto the pavement.

Dean pulled himself up onto his hands, a little dazed, and stared down at Cas, sprawled out beneath him. Cas's eyes were wide and he was breathing hard, his chest bumping into Dean's. Whatever this was between them, whatever Dean had been feeling since the day before, and hell, if he was honest, for months before that, sparked and flared to life inside him. He leaned down, breath catching and mingling with Cas's, noses brushing as he watched Cas's eyelids flutter closed.

"Hey! Get outta the way!" one of the clowns shouted, giving Dean an unfriendly jab in the side with his oversized red shoe. Dean rolled off Cas lightning fast, reaching down a hand to yank the angel upright. He looked over just in time to feel the full weight of Bozo's stare. "Assholes," the clown muttered, then bent down to give a little girl a flower he'd pulled out of his sleeve.

Dean tugged on Cas's sleeve, pulling them out of the path of the parade and onto the sidewalk. He looked around, searching for a glimmer of red hair, but Sara-Grace was long gone.

"Shit!" he hissed, grimacing when he got a disapproving look from a mother perched in a lawn chair, surrounded by her three young children.

"Where do you think she went?" Cas asked, and Dean noticed that his pupils were dilated and his breathing was still labored. There was a mildly dazed look on his face, and he wouldn't meet Dean's eyes.

Dean was saved the trouble of answering by the buzzing of his phone. It was Sam, and he had good news.

"I got her."

"You what?"

"I called her coven leader. Apparently, she burned her bridges when she broke their cardinal rule."

"And that is -?"

"Do no harm. He's royally pissed, and he's calling the coven together tonight for a little of their own brand of justice."

"And what does that mean?" Dean asked, not sure he'd like what he heard.

"There's a ritual. It'll only work if all members of the coven are willing to participate. I guess Sara-Grace had a few friends who were reluctant to take part, but now that the bodies are piling up, they're willing to do whatever it takes."

"So what does the ritual do?"

"It takes away all her power. She won't be able to cast spells, and she won't be able to bind Peggy Sneed."

Dean let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "And Peggy?"

"I think we'd better do a salt and burn, just to be safe. Y'know, put her to rest."

"Yeah, okay."

"We'll go after dark. I'm gonna finish up some research and then grab a beer. Meet you back at the inn?"

Dean nodded, then gave Cas a thumbs up. "Sounds like a plan."

**oOo**

It was nearly dark by the time Cas and Dean fought through the crowd back to the Impala and made it back to the inn. Dean figured Sam would either take the bus or call a cab, and with hundreds of people still packed into downtown, it'd probably be late before he got there.

Dean had Cas pushed up against the wall as soon as the door was shut behind them. They maybe had an hour or two, and he wasn't gonna waste a second of it.

"Dean?" Cas gasped, struggling against him for a moment before falling still, head leaned back against the wall like he wanted to put as much space as possible between them.

Dean wasn't having it. He pushed his face forward, lips grazing Cas's cheek and then his ear. "You been feelin' this the same as I have," he said, a low growl that reverberated in the bare inch of space between them. It raised goosebumps on Cas's neck, and Dean leaned in to taste them.

"Feeling what?" Cas gasped, but he tipped his chin up, baring his throat, and Dean took it as an invitation, signed, sealed and delivered in a perfect Cas-shaped package.

"Can't believe you left me," Dean murmured over Cas's skin, and he meant for it to come out angry, but all it really sounded was needy and a little sad.

"Didn't want to," Cas said, threading his fingers through Dean's hair as Dean's hand came up to unbutton his shirt, pushing inside to find bare skin, stroking the heated flesh with his fingertips.

Dean licked his way up from Cas's collarbone, a fiery trail that ended just under the lobe of his ear. "Was so mad at you," Dean said, a little broken, a little too close to the truth. Fact was, he'd been destroyed when Cas left, beaten down and damn near dead inside, lost and lonelier than he'd ever been before.

"I know," Cas whispered, and it wasn't an apology, but suddenly a weight was lifted from Dean's chest, and he breathed easy, laughing a little against Cas's shoulder.

"What are you doin' to me?"

Cas pressed his lips to Dean's temple, and Dean could feel him smile. "Shouldn't I be the one asking stupid questions?"

Dean laughed again, and it felt good, better than he could ever remember, and when Cas's lips sought his, he laughed into the angel's mouth, a rush of relief so intense it made him dizzy.

Dean would never admit to imagining how Cas might kiss, but if he did, he would've imagined the angel to be a little reserved, a little stiff, a _lot _uncertain.

Turned out, the exact opposite was true. Cas kissed with an abandon that shook Dean down to the core. He was fierce and aggressive and downright _dirty, _and Dean couldn't get enough, didn't think he'd ever be able to get enough.

Cas pushed his tongue into Dean's mouth, tasting and exploring and moaning so prettily that Dean couldn't help it when his hips jerked forward, crashing into Cas and escalating the situation tenfold. Cas didn't seem to mind though, pushing his hip against Dean's in an answering thrust, mimicking the wicked movement with his wicked tongue.

They kissed for what seemed like an eternity, and Dean was a little breathless when they pulled apart, panting as he pressed his lips against Cas's forehead. "You're killin' me here," he said with a rumbling laugh.

Cas tipped his head back, looking up at him, eyes glassy and pupils blown wide and black. "That's a good thing, right?"

Dean chuckled, snugging his hips up against Cas so there was no question as to how the angel was killing him. "Yeah, Cas. That's a _very _good thing."

A glimmer of gold caught Dean's eye then, and he cocked his head, lifting a hand to Cas's hair. He plucked out a tiny piece of confetti, glinting in the dim overhead light, and flicked it aside with a grin.

He found more confetti as he explored - two pieces stuck behind Cas's ear, and a few scattered bits caught in the fine hairs on his stomach, where they'd landed after falling down his collar.

Dean pushed Cas onto one of the beds, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way and laying him bare from neck to waist. He leaned down and blew gently, dislodging the confetti and sending it skittering off Cas's skin and onto the sheets. Cas let out a shaky moan, hips arching up as the gust of breath tickled across his belly, and then Dean pressed a kiss right below his navel.

Things started to happen very fast after that - Dean had his clothes off in record time, and Cas scrambled to catch up, yanking off his tie and fumbling with his pants until Dean reached down to help. Finally, they were both naked, both aching and hard and dripping, and then Dean moved against Cas so slow and sweet that neither of them spoke for a very long time.

There was nothing but heartbeats and staggered breathing and the occasional sharp little cry, until Dean moved with purpose down Cas's body, and then the only sound was Cas's keening as Dean took him in his mouth.

Cas came in Dean's mouth with a surprised cry, and Dean held onto his hips and rode out the aftershocks with him, soothing him with kisses and soft touches and nonsense words that he'd probably be embarrassed about later. But then Cas pulled Dean up and their lips met, and there was no time for thinking about what might happen later.

Cas pushed Dean upright, situating him over his hips until he could look up at the expanse of Dean's chest, at Dean's cock, hard and angling against his stomach. Dean's eyes went wide when Cas gripped him tight, moving with quick, assured strokes that made Dean wonder where in the hell he'd learned how to do that.

He gasped out Cas's name when the angel gripped harder, twisting a little over the head, and Dean arched back, hands clenching Cas's thighs as he came sudden and hard all over Cas's belly and chest.

He collapsed down onto the angel, and Cas twined his arms around Dean as if it was the most natural thing in the world. There was no hesitation in Cas's kiss, no worry in his eyes when he looked up at Dean with a satisfied smile.

Dean could've stayed there forever, wrapped up in Cas, even too-warm and sweaty as he was, but Sam was due back any time, and there were some things your little brother just didn't need to see.

As it was, they barely had time to get their clothes on before Sam burst through the door, muttering and cursing about crowds and the sad state of public transformation. He took one look at the pair of them, and his eyebrows shot into his hair. Dean flushed, but Cas just smiled, picking up another little piece of confetti, this time out of Dean's hair, and flicking it onto the floor.

Sam said nothing, and they began gathering their supplies for the salt and burn. Dean was ready to head for the door when he heard Sam's appalled exclamation.

"Dude!" Sam said, eyeing his bed with disgust. The sheets had been pulled up hastily, the blanket rumpled and twisted. But Sam's eyes, round and horrified, were fixed firmly on the pillow. Dean followed the line of his gaze, and then bit back a laugh.

There, sparkling against the clean white of the pillowcase, lay a scattering a confetti, twinkling silver and gold in the light.

"That's my bed," Sam said, weak and pathetic, and Dean smirked.

"Come on," Dean said, slinging an arm around Cas's shoulders and ushering Sam toward the door. "Let's go burn us a whore."


End file.
